Someone I greatly admire is my nephew Carter. He is now 3-years-old, but when he was only 8-months-old, he had to be admitted to the hospital for open-heart surgery.

He had been born with a hole in his heart and the doctors didn't discover it until after he was born. They were worried because it could cause many complicated developmental issues in his future and even a possible heart transplant. There was also a slight possibility that Carter could eventually join the statistics of teenagers who collapse on the school field and never get up again. Because of all of this, they knew they had to operate sooner rather than later. I will never forget the phone call I had with my sister when we found out the news.

"How was the cardiologist?"

My sister just broke down into hysterical tears. Tears that still haunt me almost three years later.

"I'll have Mom tell you."

She had been unable to say it out loud herself, so she quickly passed the phone to our mother, who had been staying over for a short time to help her out. I could hardly remember everything that my mom had explained to me because all I felt was fear and worry in my chest.

What happened if something went wrong during the surgery? What happened if it doesn't work? And, most importantly, why does this baby boy have to go through this?

I remember the night before Carter's surgery. Now, I am definitely no fan of children - in fact, if I could afford it I would get myself sterilized - but the love I have for this little boy is undeniable. My parents and I decided to get together and read to Carter a story over Skype, just to keep things normal, even if he didn't know what was going on at the time. My sister Dianne and my brother-in-law were banning everyone in the family from going to the hospital during the operation, understandably, because they wanted to be there and deal with it alone. They swore to keep us updated via text throughout the day.

He came through it with flying colors, and his surgeon even commented that it went much better than expected. He will only need one more surgery in his late teens or early 20s to replace the valve. Otherwise, he is all clear. He had woken up in the hospital afterward, and - according to Dianne - he was a little freaked out about being hooked up to machines in a strange place. However, besides that, he was a complete trooper. She described to me how they were not allowed to hold him for awhile, and how he kept panicking and clearly wanted physical reassurance from Mommy and Daddy. But, they were told they were not allowed to touch him for a day or so, and the pain that knowledge caused them, and especially after seeing the pictures; I can feel it, too.

He pulled through with nothing but a scar on his chest. His parents call it a "zip line," and he was even given the book, Zip Line by David Humphreys, a story about a little girl who also had surgery and has a resulting scar on her chest. They read it to him so he knows that he is still a normal little boy, even though he has a scar and has gone through a major operation that he doesn't remember. He knows it is something to be proud of and knows that we are all thrilled for him. If he can get through a major surgery like that as an infant, imagine what he can overcome when he's older.

Around one percent - or 40,000 - babies in the United States are born with a congenital heart defect each year, according to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention. It is the leading cause of death in babies, but that does not mean that they still can't go on and live healthy and wonderful lives. Those children with mild CHDs have an 80 percent chance of having no developmental impairment as they grow up.

Now, Carter is the proud big brother of an adorable, heart-healthy 4-month-old boy. If you ask him to show you his zip line, he will pull his shirt up and point to the scar on his chest. I personally call it his battle wound, because that is what I consider it; a mark, a symbol of him being a little fighter. Our little fighter.